The assistant under-secretary’s office, as befitted his rank, was spacious, comfortably carpeted and well-appointed with impressive furniture. A set of vivid watercolours depicting scenes of Indian wildlife, tigers and elephants, adorned the walls, evoking Smith Berry’s earlier career as a security specialist in the colonies. Two coal fires burned cheerily, one at either side of the room.

‘Good morning, Mr Mallon, Mr Swallow. Please sit down.’

Smith Berry’s tone was polite, but as icy as the morning outside. Swallow knew him slightly. He had been at conferences where the assistant under-secretary spoke of the challenges and responsibilities facing the Irish police forces. Swallow was familiar with the man who sat at the apex of the security network that controlled, or sought to control, Ireland, and their paths had crossed before.

He was probably fifty, Swallow reckoned, about the same age as Mallon. He looked fit and trim and was clean-shaven, with greying hair carefully brushed back in two wings above his ears. His spare frame seemed to fit perfectly into the morning suit and starched white shirt that were the prescribed mode of dress for very senior officials in the Upper Yard. He might have been born into it, Swallow thought. Now he sat grim-faced behind his desk, flanked on one side by Major Kelly, on the other by Waters, the former RIC man.

‘Thank you, sir,’ Mallon said. ‘Good morning to you.’

He nodded an acknowledgment to Kelly and Waters.

There was a long, awkward silence. The only sound in the room was the ticking of a glass-domed Ormolu clock over the carved mantle.

‘Well?’ Smith Berry eventually released the syllable.

‘Sir?’

‘Don’t “Sir” me, Mr Mallon.’ Smith Berry’s voice was, if anything, icier than his earlier greeting. ‘You know why I asked you to be here.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean, Mr Smith Berry.’ Mallon sounded earnest. ‘Why did you want to see me?’

‘You know very well indeed why I wanted you. On Friday I asked that you furnish this office with certain records from G-Division. I expected them on my desk on Saturday. It is a very short distance from Exchange Court to here. At the very least I had expected to have them delivered to me this morning.’

Mallon raised his hands in a gesture of comprehension.

‘I’m very sorry, Mr Smith Berry. I hadn’t appreciated the absolute urgency of the matter. In fact, I requested Detective Inspector Swallow to locate the logs after we spoke on Friday. Regrettably, he hasn’t yet been able to do so.’

Smith Berry arched backwards in his chair, his jaw dropping as if to convey incredulity.

‘Mr Mallon . . . this is . . . unacceptable.’

Kelly angrily slapped the tabletop in front of him.

‘I might have known. Are you telling us you can’t locate the basic daily records that every police office in the kingdom is obliged to keep and maintain?’